Ten Minutes
by Mr. Bathory
Summary: Severus Snape actually takes care of himself. (One shot)


_'I want to wash my hair. Brush my teeth. Wash myself. Take care of myself, for once.'_

Severus Snape stared, from in amongst the piles and stacks of books, exams, papers, letters, at the door leading to his bathroom. It wasn't the first time he'd had this thought. He had thought of it, before, multiple times, but never when he actually had the time to do it. He always fell asleep early, exhausted from work, and then when he woke up...

 _Sigh._

Too much to do. Too much stress, too much focus, too much of ' _why am I still here'_ swimming around in his mind. He could do with a pensieve. A pensieve like the one Albus stored in his office - something to get all of this shit and rubble and blood, and _death,_ out of his head. His face was always turned to the floor, perhaps because of the weight he carried on his shoulders, sliding up his neck, pushing him to slouch and slump over.

It was crushing him.

He'd learnt not to pay much attention, now, to the way the children in his class snickered behind his back at his greasy hair, yellow teeth. The way incense masked the way he smelled. He _was_ embarrassed of it. He _did_ care. _It did hurt._ But he did what he usually did, when things were stressing him out. He lived life two steps to the left, beside himself with apathy. It was hard, being the wizarding world's most controversial spy. Those on the dark side accepted him, but harboured ideals he could not agree with, and those on the side of the light, on the side of Albus Dumbledore, laughed at him, made a joke of him, _hated_ him. He couldn't win, and would die, soon. Even if the children learnt that he wasn't the man they thought he was, a part of them would still curl their lips in disgust.

 _He wanted to relax._

No. Too little time, and too much to do. Too much fucking _marking._ He looked at the papers and books, scathingly. Venomously.

' _Why the fuck am I a teacher, anyway? I dislike people at the best of times, let alone children - especially adolescents - and they are almost always unfiltered, less polite versions of their parents. Save for the few I can actually tolerate. While Miss Granger is an insufferable know-it-all, I admire her enthusiasm towards the art of potions; I admire her ambition, and while Miss Lovegood is painfully out-of-it, she may be the only student who has ever passed a smile in my general direction.'_

Severus looked up again, black eyes tired and rimmed with dark, bruise-like rings. He caught the gaze of Miss Lovegood, only briefly, and fought the urge to smile, himself, when he felt the warmth of her smile inching towards him.

Sometimes, he didn't feel like he was allowed to smile. No time to smile. Nothing much to smile about.

He rested his head in his hand, marking yet another test with his critical, scrutinizing gaze. He furrowed his brow - _Booms long._ What kind of idiot...?

' _Oh, nevermind; another Weasley with yet another feeble spelling error.'_ With annoyance - this was not a first-year class, nor were his students mediocre (he went out of his way to have them win the best results) - he scratched into the paper,

" _Mr Weasley, do you even know what a BOOMSLANG is? Are you capable of reading a book? Look for Zygmunt Budge's books in the library - take someone with you to ensure that you find the correct title. I want a small paragraph on the boomslang by Friday."_

 _What a waste of ink._ Severus sneered, and then carried on marking, briefly swatting away the thought of taking a break, like an angry cat being teased while trying to eat its food.

 _Food..._

When the bell finally signalled the end of class, Professor Snape remembered why he was a teacher.

' _Because the future generation needs knowledge. My knowledge. I may not be good at other areas of magic, but in potions, I'm the best they could hope for. And Albus requires my presence in the castle.'_

And then the question of morality surfaced again. See, Snape never stopped thinking. The cogs were always whirring in his mind, finding new things to stress him out and cause a near crisis. But this morality thing was beginning to unpick his sanity - was what he was fighting for even a just cause? Albus treats Potter like a piece of meat to be thrown around. Dragons in the Triwizard Tournament? _Fuck it!,_ says Albus, _Guess he'll just die!_

Severus was loyal to Albus, of course. But this was beginning to look more like shades of murky, indistinguishable grey than stark black or white. It made him indecisive, and caused disharmony. Was he really loyal? Albus could be abusive. The Dark Lord could be merciful, at times.

With the dungeons empty, Severus Snape let his head fall to both of his hands, pain sweeping across his skull, behind his eyes with the tension. If he'd had any sort of say in Potter's foolish misadventures, he'd have someone to keep an eye on him at all times. Of course, having that arrogant prick, James, as his father, if Potter wanted to do something he would find a way to do it anyway, the least that Severus could do was to make sure that he wasn't going to carry out his adventures alone. He had decided it, properly, in his third year, and had followed him, that time.

The boy would have been mauled to death by a werewolf, if he hadn't decided to let him go alone.

Even after the idiot knocked him out in the shrieking shack, he wouldn't break his final promise to Lily. It was the only clear purpose he had left, the only thing he could do for her, to even begin to make up for how he'd hurt her, when they were young.

He stopped rubbing his head when his fingers touched the grease at his roots and he withdrew his hand completely, as if he'd stuck it in something awful.

He'd been very meticulous about his hygiene when he was a boy. Always washing up after himself, always scrubbing himself thoroughly, from top to toe. He'd never been covered in mud, like other children his age.

 _Wash your hair. Do it. Do it now. You have a few minutes._

 _'But the papers... the marking...'_

 _Can't that wait for an hour?_

 _'They will poke fun.'_

 _Will they really, though?_

"...Oh, what harm could it do..." Severus muttered to himself in defeat, getting up from his chair and walking towards his personal quarters. Ten minutes. He would only give himself ten minutes, not a second more. He would very, very briefly indulge himself.

He filled the bath with a water-conjuring charm, and then heated it, staring down at it.

He hesitated... and then covered the mirror before getting undressed, putting one foot in the bath, then the other, sinking down until the water rose to his shoulders, and then he dunked his head under.

Severus sat back up, wiping the water from his face, leaning back against the metal rim of the tub, his hair appearing longer, now, full of water, dripping onto the floor. He rested his head back, and took from the shelf a mixture of herbs, powders and honey, and then he began to smooth it through his hair, scrubbing his scalp.

It felt like absolute heaven. Just these ten small minutes... nobody had to know. It was just for him.

He audibly sighed with relief when he washed the suds back out of his hair, before reaching for his towel and wrapping his hair up. Five more minutes passed, and he had washed his body, scrubbed his face with salt, moisturised it and taken the callouses from his hands. Finally, he got back out, drying himself as quickly as he could, powdering under his arms with sage and thyme, and then he brushed his teeth. With a quick spell, his hair was dry, and he brushed through it, rubbing an earthy-smelling oil between his palms before treating the ends.

He felt much better, now.

Once he was dressed again, he uncovered the mirror. Strangely enough, he felt like his old self again. Clean. Meticulous. Precise. Everything was how it should be, and he forgot morality for a moment.

His once ghastly pale skin was... well, still pale, but not so pasty. He didn't look ill. And his hair looked so much healthier. Much more shiny and soft. Thick. Touchable. And he didn't have to mask himself with incense anymore. He actually smelled rather pleasant, like leather, labdanum, black tea, patchouli and black pepper. A very green, dark, earthy and spicy scent.

Severus straightened his collar.

His ten... or rather, twenty, minutes were up.

 _Back to work._


End file.
